


Look at me like that

by cher



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M, Sex Toys, Sexual Fantasy, Submissive Crowley (Good Omens), The Taller One Fucking Bottoms Okay, Thirsty Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-06 00:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20282548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cher/pseuds/cher
Summary: And that was how Crowley had ended up here, staring up at his bedroom ceiling on a perfectly nice Friday night, hand wrapped a little desperately around his cock.





	Look at me like that

**Author's Note:**

  * For [infernal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infernal/gifts).

It wasn't that he'd planned things this way. He'd have tried to find a way around it, if he'd known what he was setting himself up for.

It was the clothes, was all. The cut of his trousers, for the last sixty years at least, had demanded that Crowley—well. Fill them out. It just looked a bit odd if he didn't have a nice impressive bulge there. Useless for tempting anyone. Didn't go with his persona at all. And people _noticed, _if he didn't_. _So, he'd got into the habit of making an effort, making his body that bit more human. Now he was just sort of used to it, and he felt a bit strange if he turned that part of his body off again.

That was how he'd ended up here, staring up at his bedroom ceiling on a perfectly nice Friday night, hand wrapped a little desperately around his cock.

It was the blessed angel, of course. He drove Crowley absolutely crazy. All buttoned up and untouchable, prim and prissy and just—somehow, it defied good taste—devastating. With his beaming delight about the smallest things, and the way he held his wine glass, and the way he would occasionally, almost certainly by accident, brush Crowley's hand when he handed him things. It would never, ever come to any more than that, those casual touches that were mostly accidental. The frustration of it was agony.

It was just short of intolerable, sitting across from Aziraphale at dinner after dinner, trying to hide his helpless lust as the angel just—did things. Greeted him with every appearance of pleasure. Moaned, eyes shut and looking downright indecent, because the pasta was just right. Every so often, that exciting glint of divine fury as he corrected an injustice he happened to see close by. Better, the disapproving arch of an eyebrow if he caught Crowley in a demonic wile he didn't approve of. Crowley—not to mention his inconvenient cock—courted that eyebrow with dedication never before seen from demonkind. It was a good thing Hell didn't audit demonic miracles, because Crowley blew a lot of them on hiding his ill-timed erections. 

In short, Crowley was fucked, and was also never going to get fucked, and so here he was. Sad bastard on a Friday night with his trousers open and cock in hand, all worked up because his best friend had patted his knee in thanks for the ride back to his shop after their dinner. 

Guilty, Crowley reached over to his night stand to pull out the shirt Aziraphale thought his laundry service had mislaid. He'd give it back, eventually, when the scent faded. He always did. In the meanwhile he held it to his face, letting his original tongue manifest for a moment, the better to bask in the angel's smell. He flicked his forked tongue out, tasting the tiny particles of angel, and it made him groan out loud. 

The things he wanted Aziraphale to do to him! If only the hand brushes went further, if they became masterful, sure and demanding. Commanding, like the eyebrow of disapproval. Aziraphale would love to have his cock sucked, if he ever manifested it, Crowley was sure of it. It would suit his angel's hedonistic heart right down to the ground, to have Crowley kneel for him, do all the work to get him off. Maybe even be naked while Aziraphale stayed buttoned up and perfect, only his flies undone for Crowley to suck him just the way he liked it. It would be wonderful. 

Crowley's hand on his cock wasn't enough. It never was. He wanted to be stretched open, filled and fucked. 

He miracled his trousers away and reached for the drawer again. Sex toys were one of those things that humans had come up with all by themselves, and that Aziraphale still believed Crowley was responsible for. He'd never been able to bring himself to ask why. He did have a fine collection, all acquired recently as this obsession of his gathered pace. They meant he could indulge himself like this, slide his favourite dildo slow and steady into his ass and pretend his angel liked to fuck. 

He'd thought about trying it with a human, since he was so fixated on the idea. He never got further than idly wondering; it felt ridiculously like infidelity. Absurd, but there it was. So thank Somebody for sex toys, without which Crowley would be even more miserable about the whole problem.

His cock throbbed, delighted to have his toy inside him. The shirt fabric was soft against his face, and he breathed in deep, holding Aziraphale's scent in his lungs, and thought of being well and truly fucked.

He wanted it hard, inexorable and deep and all about Aziraphale. He'd be useful, helpful, and Aziraphale would smile and take it as his due.

Crowley was desperate for it, really. Had been for decades at least. He wanted to be held down, or even better, for Aziraphale to just expect him to hold _himself_ down, no restraints needed, and he _would, _he would. Just brace himself for his angel to go at until he was done. It'd be fantastic.

Cock in hand and toy pressed deep inside him, he came so hard it almost hurt. 


End file.
